


Shattered

by Monalisasandmadhatters20



Category: Rocketman (2019)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-24 10:50:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21098258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monalisasandmadhatters20/pseuds/Monalisasandmadhatters20
Summary: Things were grand.  Brilliant even. Everything had gone their way.  They were top of the pops. They had certified platnum, silver, AND gold records.  They could not walk down the street without hearing at least ONE grey haired ol’ tramp singing their tunes.So why wasn't Elton finally happy??





	1. Chapter 1

Things were grand. Brilliant even. Everything had gone their way. They were top of the pops. They had certified platnum, silver, AND gold records. They could not walk down the street without hearing at least ONE grey haired ol’ tramp singing their tunes. And yet… 

_ Life truly sucks _ , Elton thought, nursing his fifth martini.

He sat upon a love seat at some high executive’s mansion he refused to learn the name of, watching the party going on in full swing. Drugged and drunk men and women laughed and danced with each other. Their grins were like ice to Elton’s blood. He remembered a time when  _ he _ was the life of the party. When  _ he _ was the one people flocked to for a good time. When  _ he _ was like these fucking hoards of people and could actually  _ enjoy _ himself.

Now he sat alone, glaring at anyone who came near him. He really should be a little more welcoming, he supposed.

He had tried to sneak out hours ago. John had sidled up to him, hooked his arm around his elbow, and led him back to the space he was currently occupying.  _ Don’t draw attention to yourself, Elton. This is YOUR fucking release party, and you will be bloody thankful for it, _ he had said, pressing yet another drink into his chest and telling him to stay.

_ Like a fucking dog, _ Elton thought, the resentment returning when he spied John chatting it up with a young man in the corner. They were always young now, with John. He gulped down the remainder of his martini, feeling especially old in comparison. 

Bernie had made an appearance, of course, sipping at a bottle of water and speaking animatedly with Ray. Elton had longed to join them. He had missed them both dearly. It had been years since he had seen either of them, thanks to John. The look in Ray’s eyes when they found Elton’s though made him decide against it. He didn’t much feel like fighting tonight.

_ Such a lovely guy, a good friend, and I’m a fucking cunt for letting him go _ , Elton thought, beckoning the waitstaff for another drink.

Bernie had sat down with him for a short time after leaving Ray’s side. He had asked after Elton’s health and well-being, and Elton snapped back prissily. He did not seem to know how to react any other way as of late.  _ You look good, though, Bernie, _ Elton had admitted after the brief silence,  _ And I am quite thrilled to see you, even though I still think you’re a right prick for leaving me in the first place... _

Bernie had left with a shake of his head, murmuring about getting back to the wife.  _ Congratulations are in order, I reckon, old friend _ ,  _ you’ve done well even without me, _ he had said, gesturing to the party. He left with a friendly squeeze to Elton’s shoulder.  _ Call me if you need anything, though, mate… Anything at all... _

_ Congratulations indeed…, _ Elton had murmured to Bernie’s retreating back. Gods, he had never wanted to punch anyone as much as he did Bernie in the face as he sauntered out the door to his perfect  _ sober _ life, perfect house, perfect wife… Away from him,  _ again. _ Like he would ring Bernie with his issues when he had left him to the masses,  _ again. _

Elton scrubbed his face with his hand. He gazed around the room. John was no longer in sight. Elton got to his feet, rather unsteadily, and shouldered his way to the door. He knew he would be the talk of the papers on the morrow for his attitude, but he truly could not care any less...

_ Fucking pricks, the lot of them _ …

  
  


*****************

Bernie sat in his hotel room, content in the silence after the party. He rang up his wife to let her know he would not be returning until the morrow. He had much to contemplate after seeing his best friend for the first time in years, and he knew Maxine would be no help...

Maxine was quite cross, of course. She had been since the moment Bernie had mentioned attending the party last week. She had been so thankful when Bernie had cut off the sore that was Elton John. It had not been a conscious choice, really, but she still banged on for months about how wonderful their life was without the ‘bitch’, and how proud she was of him. 

Bernie knew he needed to step back and reevaluate his life and his life choices before he ended up in an early grave. They had been writing, recording, and touring non-stop since their early twenties... He had wanted Elton to run away with him, to rest and recoup and start over again. He had brought it up to him in the jet in fact so he couldn’t run away from the conversation. So he could consider the idea with an open mind. 

But instead… Instead Elton had just continued to dig his own grave himself.

It hurt. It hurt more than Bernie could have realized before walking in the door to the launch party, seeing him. He was but a shadow of his former self. Reggie Dwight was nowhere to be seen in both his eyes or demeanor. He looked sickly. He was all bones and cuts and bruises and reeking of despair. Bernie had watched him down 3 martinis in the half hour he had stood with Ray, and knew that was not the beginning (nor the end) of his consumption that evening. 

He had wanted to take Elton in his arms and carry him to safety. He had wanted to send light into the darkness that seemed to spread in his soul. He had wanted to show Elton the love and affection he both longed for and deserved, especially when he saw John fucking Reid heading to a spare room with a young stranger on his arm.

Instead, he left. He had tried to reach him, again, and he had failed. He told Elton to ring him if he needed him for anything,  _ like that ever worked in the past, old fruit.. _ . The glare Bernie received in return broke his heart. Elton had never turned his gaze at Bernie in that way in all the years they had known each other.

Bernie sipped at his coca cola, wishing for the first time in 2 years it was something stronger. Elton always had a strange way of doing that to him. 

He rummaged through his bag, finding his old notepad and pen, and began to write. Words that did not make sense when placed together, but made sense in his heart filled the page. Elton had always been too proud to ask for aid, Bernie knew that personally, but that did not mean Bernie would concede defeat. 

_ One day, it will become too much, and he will need someone to help pick up the pieces of his life. He has run off almost everyone who actually cares about HIM, and not the money and fame. But he will not run me off. Not again. _


	2. Chapter 2

After Elton had snorted the line of cocaine set out by one of the many groupies that seemed ever present in his life, he kicked the whole lot of his tiny dressing room. He hated what his life had become, and they were just a reminder of how far from Reg Dwight he had fallen. He probably could have been nicer about it, of course, but in his drug addled and pre-drunken state he really couldn't care any less. He had a show to put on in twenty minutes, and he needed a few bloody moments to himself to prepare.

_ John will be quite exasperated when he hears of the scene _ , Elton thought, placing the extravagant sunglasses over his tired eyes. Pity they did not hide the new bruises John had gifted him earlier... But really, he was quite done with the charade his life had become, thank you very much. 

He remembered the scene, not too long before Bernie left him the last time, when he was asked if he ever wanted to just go out and perform normally. No ridiculous costumes, no fanciful tricks, just himself. He had scoffed at the time, but as he gazed at his reflection, he could not help but wonder if perhaps Bernie had been right.

_ A fucking peacock, _ Elton thought, raising his ‘wings’.  _ John has me dressed as a fucking peacock… _

He was too sober for this rubbish. 

He groaned when he heard a hesitant knock on the door. He had thought he had been clear he was not to be disturbed before he was due on stage. He stomped to the door, the large wedged heels making an impressive accompaniment to his irrational irritation, and slammed it open.

“This better be fucking impor… Bernie?”

He tilted his head to the side. He had not seen Bernie since the party three months prior. He had not expected to see him again, if he was honest with himself. He was a right twat during their (mainly one sided) conversation.  _ Then again… When am I not?,  _ he asked himself thoughtfully.

Bernie had his hands in the pockets of his stonewashed jeans, a black button down under a sharp black sports coat. His black leather cowboy boots were tapping nervously against the linoleum. He was the epitome of sex appeal, and there Elton stood like a duffer in all his multi-colored feathered splendor.

“Hey, mate. Just wanted to let you know I’m here to see the show. But, Reg, seriously, what the bloody hell are you wearing?”

“I know… It’s quite ghastly, innit?,” Elton asked, stepping to the side. “Come on in, then, if you must. Don’t have much time, though.”

Bernie nodded in thanks, ducking through the door way with a grace that made Elton feel quite self- conscious. Elton all but collapsed in the chair in front of his makeup table, rubbing his throbbing head. “What a fucking day,” he muttered.

“You alright?,” Bernie asked, looking through the clothing rack and the rest of the outrageous costumes John had had tailored for this tour. “Is that a fucking dress, mate?”

“Not really, no, and yes, that’s my victorian dress I guess I’m supposed to wear at some point,” Elton said, shrugging. He began to apply powder over his bruises with an unsteady hand. “You?”

“Aye, I’m fine,” Bernie said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers and leaning against the wall.

“Good, good.”

The silence was heavy. Elton remembered a time where conversation flowed so freely between them and any silence was comfortable. When did they drift so far apart? It seemed almost oppressive now, the silence, with Bernie looking at him with such concern.

“How’s the wife?,” Elton asked, grasping for something to speak of, to end the awkwardness in the air. When Bernie’s face fell even more, he winced. “Sorry, I…”

“Soon to be ex-wife now,” Bernie interrupted with a shrug. He curled his hands into fists, still shoved in his trouser pockets. “I reckon she’s well. She moved back east to her mum’s house. Just waiting on the papers now.”

“Oh,” Elton said, blinking rather stupidly. “I’m sorry to hear that, mate.”

Bernie shrugged. “Such is life.”

“Sure.”

“How are things with Reid?”

Elton threw his makeup brush on the table. “It’s time for me to get out there. John will have my head if I’m late going on again, mate. I seem to lose track of time a lot these days. I’ll… I’ll see you soon, though, yeah?”

Bernie nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Yeah, mate. I’ll come back here after the show? Maybe we can go get some food or something.”

“Or something… Sure, right. I’ll see you after.”

Elton rushed out the door. He still had ten minutes before the show, but he had to leave the tense atmosphere before he had choked to death. He had to find one of the scores of clingers and get another line sorted, or he’d never make it on stage tonight, and  _ boy, _ what fun John would be if that happened...

Gods, but he hated dealing with his  _ feelings _ .

  
  


**********************

Bernie stayed leaned against the wall, watching Elton scurry out the door with a heavy sigh. His conflicting emotions warred within his soul. The stilted conversation, the unpleasant awkwardness throughout the entire visit, the new bruises and (must be) self inflicted cuts on his arms that contrasted so nicely with Elton’s sallow skin, was almost too much for Bernie to handle. He had heard from an old mate that Elton had just gone and thrown a pure diva fit. He was expecting prissy Elton, not gauche Elton, and seemed one step behind throughout their entire time together.

He lifted himself up, running his fingers through his hair.  _ Such a terrible idea, being here _ , Bernie thought, walking to his box.  _ Maxine was right all along. This whole idea is right pointless. Elton is no longer Reggie, I need to stop kidding myself. _

He sat down in his box, readying himself for a wonderful show. Elton was on point, moving well even in that ghastly get-up, singing THEIR heartfelt melodies with such power Bernie felt in awe. The new king of rock and roll played three encores that evening, and Bernie’s cheeks felt like they would be stuck in that smile for the rest of his life. 

  
  


****************

“Just because you can’t stand the man does not make him a bad person, John,” Elton said tiredly. “He was my best mate for years. He made the scores of albums even possible, John. I think I owe him something.”

They seemed to have the same argument every time Bernie was mentioned, even in passing. They were in the dressing room, Elton peeling off the layers of his costume, John leaning against the wall, his arms folded across the front of his three piece suit. 

“You owe him nothing, Elton,” John sneered.

Elton scoffed, pulling an old t-shirt over his head. “I don’t know why I bother with you any longer, John. You don’t even want to be seen with me half the time. Just go and find some random man for the night and leave me be for now.”

John shook his head, stalking towards Elton, an almost feral look in eyes. He snatched at Elton’s hair, pulling it to lift his head until he was forced to look at him. He rubbed Elton’s lips with his thumb as he leaned close, his lips barely missing his ear. “You bother with me because you are still in love with me, you foolish man,” he hissed, sliding his hand from his face, to his chest, then down Elton’s side until it grasped his hip. Elton could not help the needy moan that came with that. “You will always be mine, Elton John, no matter what I do with anyone else. You need me.”

John shoved him roughly after that declaration, Elton landed on the floor. “The car will be waiting out front by now. Put on some damn trousers and let’s go, Elton.”

As John led him through the crowded hallway, Elton searched wildly for Bernie. He did not know why he was so disappointed when he did not see him. He really should have known better by now.


	3. Chapter 3

Bernie should have gone back directly after the show as he had promised Elton he would. He knew that. Elton might have actually been waiting for him this time, waiting for Bernie’s broken promises once again. He continued to tell himself it was time to get up and  _ go _ . Bernie sat in his seat as the venue emptied swiftly, trying to gear himself up for another awkward encounter. 

It ended up being long enough for security to tell him he really had to leave  _ now. _ By the time he had finally dragged his way backstage, Elton was being herded down the hallway in Reid’s crushing grip. 

He should have called out to him. He should have ran to him. He should have done anything other than what he did. The misery on Elton’s face was like a punch to his gut. He just stood, watching as Reid shouldered his way through the crowded hallway. Bernie watched Elton’s shoulders hunch more and more, and he had never hated himself more than he had at that moment.

Bernie sighed. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and left the venue with a heavy heart and a nameless bimbo on his arm. He needed to do something to try to combat the chill that settled in his soul.

When Bernie awoke the following day he felt the pounding in his head that only too much liquor could bring. He did not even remember drinking, but it was obvious he overdid it. The whole night became a night of sensations, and perhaps pounding down drinks with the bird seemed like the right course of action at the time. 

Now though, as he hugged the porcelain as he emptied his stomach over and over, he only felt shame.

_ Maxine would be so cross if she could see me now, _ Bernie thought miserably, placing a cool cloth on his burning forehead, wishing the bird (Iris, she reminded him) would just leave him be.  _ This was why she wanted me nowhere near Elton… I end up doing stupid shit like this... _

He had to wonder how Elton dealt with this on a daily basis and even stayed somewhat sane...

  
  


**********************

Elton sat by the window, watching the sun rise with a sneer. John had retired ages ago after getting his fill from Elton’s holes, and left him to his own devices. Elton had taken the full handle of gin from the cabinet and plopped down upon the overstuffed chair hours ago, the feelings of pure wretchedness only growing as each minute passed.

He had broken up with John months ago, in word. He had told him he was finished being his toy. He was finished being used by someone who had no care for him, as he already hated himself enough. He would keep him on as his manager, (because when it came to business there was really no one better, as much as Elton hated to admit), but their relationship was over. 

John had only smirked, and never fucking left.

Elton hated confrontation. He had since he was a wee tot. His Nan usually dealt with his parents and other adults when they were being a bit too harsh when he was a child, Bernie dealt with the masses in the beginning of their career, and John handled it now. 

He hated not being able to take care of his own issues like an adult.

Elton tipped the bottle into his mouth, wishing he could run to his Nan to deal with the mess his life had become. He knew she would do anything for him, and would most definitely handle it if he asked her to, but he was a grown fucking man now. He was 33 years old, dammit, and he should be able to handle his own life. 

He threw the empty bottle across the room, feeling much more at peace when he heard the sound of the bottle breaking and landing onto the plush carpeting. He stood, tying his silk dressing gown closed around his body. He needed sleep, and as much as he loathed to do so, he needed to go lay next to John to do so. 

He never slept half as well alone.

_ One day I’ll have the power to leave you, _ he thought, snuggling into John’s chest.  _ One day I’ll be strong enough to stand on my own feet. _

He smiled slightly when John wrapped his arm around him. For a moment, he could pretend he was loved. For a moment, he could pretend he wasn’t the worthless fool that did nothing but cause problems. For a moment, he could pretend he was not lonely. _One day I’ll be able to leave you, but_ _today just isn’t that day._


	4. Chapter 4

When Bernie _ finally _ crossed Elton’s path again, months had passed by seemingly in a blink. Elton had played in ten different countries, before settling back at his mansion in Los Angeles to begin work on a new album. He had rang Bernie and asked if he had wanted to come out of his quasi retirement and if he had any words left in him. He had ‘grown tired’ of working with other lyricists, pumping out albums like a machine and not able to truly connect with his songs.  _ Please, darling, for me? _ , Elton has asked, like Bernie would have said no anyway...

So of course Bernie jumped into his truck and made the trip from the ranch to the expansive mansion. There was really no other choice that made sense.

When Bernie entered the posh foyer, done in neutral tones and stinking of wealth, he felt out of place. He had a mud room, Elton had a foyer. He was the plain country boy, Elton was the sophisticate. Bernie knew that inwardly, of course, had since the very beginning of their partnership, but seeing such striking contrast was quite gut-wrenching.

He watched Elton walk down the spiral staircase, beaming at Bernie. Elton had actually gotten dressed that morning, a simple pair of white linen pants and tight fitting long sleeved tee, but it was still more than Bernie had expected. The diamond earring from their first tour sat proudly in his ear. He had (almost normal) looking specs on his face. Nothing about his look screamed extravagance, really, and Bernie could not help the smile that flitted onto his face. He looked like Reggie Dwight for the first time in years.

He looked good. 

“Bernie, darling, it’s wonderful to see you!”

Elton kissed Bernie’s cheeks, and he felt them heat in the same embarrassment that always came from the gesture. “Hey, mate. You look good.”

“I feel well this morning. John has taken a trip and has been gone for several days now. The quiet is not as suffocating as I had thought it to be. I am actually hoping he never returns.”

“That’s great to hear, mate.”

Elton nodded. “Indeed. So… What’d you bring me?”

“Oh! Oh, right,” Bernie said, fumbling with his messenger bag still sat upon his hip. He shoved a notebook into Elton’s chest. “Just some stuff I’ve been working on over the years. I don’t know if it’s anything that you’re looking for but…”

  
“Lovely. Simply lovely. Thank you, Bernie. Come, I’ve had tea set in the sunroom. It is a brilliant day to catch up with an old friend, wouldn’t you say?”

“Sure?,” Bernie said, allowing Elton to hook his arm through his. He did not know what was happening, and partly, he wished not to find out.

**************   
  


“A will, mate? Really?,” Bernie asked, flabbergasted.

Elton shrugged. “I have a lot, Bernie. And not too much left to live for. You must realize that by now. If things go south, which they may and soon…” Bernie raised his eyebrow. “Reporters are knocking on the wrong doors now, and John is getting more and more…” He cleared his throat. “No matter… Nothing to fret over yet, but... I just want to make sure the few people I actually about are taken care of. You are the sole beneficiary.”

“Are you quite mad, Elton? What are you bloody hell are you talking about with Reid? What’s the wanker doing now?”

Elton shook his head. “Nothing, Bernie, it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything. Just tell me you’ll accept when the time comes. If my parents get anything, I will be quite displeased.”

“Reg, if something is going on, if you aren’t safe, tell me. I…”

“And you’ll what, Bernie? Hide me in a bloody ivory tower? Leave it, mate,” he said, reaching for his vodka and tonic. The sleeve lifted slightly, showing the angry bruises and raw skin that Elton had tried desperately to hide. He lowered the sleeve, covering his hand, and sipped at his drink. He sighed softly, getting to his feet. “This was a mistake. You can see yourself out, yes? Good.”

Bernie should have gotten to his feet, and ran after Elton. He should have ensured he was quite alright, and made him talk about what the hell was going on that brought him to the point of creating a will at the young age of 35. Instead, Bernie sat alone for quite a while, his cup of tea untouched and rapidly cooling upon the glass table, tears falling from his eyes, before trudging back to his ranch and large glass of brandy that had called his name.

********************

Bernie continued to write for Elton, sending the lyrics all over the world. He would smile when he would hear a new tune on the radio, see Elton on the tele performing, and especially when he would receive the odd letter of thanks in the post. Elton was unwell, it was obvious from the broadcasts. The letters received lacked detail and heart, but it still made Bernie quite chuffed Elton thought of him.

Bernie somehow made it through his days. He flitted around his ranch without purpose, living as free of care as he could. He bought things that were actually needed and not fuck-all extravagant. He cooked dinner at home. He barely touched the drink and never touched the drug. He kept girlfriends for weeks at a time now, not just a few days. 

But yet, he was feeling just as poorly as Elton looked.

There was something missing in his life. He was conscious of what it was. Or rather who, if he ever chose to be honest with himself.

When he received the call just after 3 in the morning, pushing Heather off of himself in his panic, he found he could not lie to himself any longer. He would never be whole if he continued this deceit. Elton was laid up in the hospital, found by his staff after falling into a heap at the bottom of the stairs thanks in part to a heart attack and cocaine seizure. 

He did not even have to consider his actions. He had to get to Reggie.


	5. Chapter 5

When Elton first thought Bernie was his soulmate, it was atop the roof at Arabella’s place. He had made himself believe Bernie had felt the same, and was broken hearted when he realized he had misread all the signs. The second was the night at the Troubadour, when he gazed up at the balcony and saw Bernie’s awe during the performance. When Bernie left with Heather, and he with John, he told himself quite sternly he needed to stop with the silly pipe-dream and take what he could get. He did not deserve much, anyway.

In the beginning, John was good for him. John worshipped him, and Elton bought him things. That was how relationships were done, right? He refused to believe that John only worshipped him for what Elton gave him. 

Slowly, their relationship changed. Elton could never pinpoint when the toxicity grew to epic proportions through both word and action. Many bruises and various injuries on both men were carefully hidden from the public eye. Elton learned early in his career how to perform even with broken bones. 

As he lay on the bed, hooked to all the damn machines, listening to John’s exasperated tirade, he wondered when this became normal to him. When it became normal for John to be vexed and being held back from hurting him over something Elton did. He scrubbed his hand with face. He was much too sober for this.

_ I will need to give the poor nurse a nice gift for dealing with the prick before leaving the hospital, that’s for certain _ , he thought.

“John, just go,” Elton said tiredly. “I can’t rest with your yelling about. If I don’t rest, I won’t be released, and you’ll lose all your shiny trinkets, won’tcha?”

John glared at him darkly, but Elton found he was too weary to care. The poor nurse did well in keeping Elton from John’s reach once again. He did leave, though, so Elton counted it a small victory.

When he woke next, alone and still hooked up to the godawful machines, he picked up the phone. He did not want to be alone any longer.

_ I have never needed Bernie more than I need him now… _

**********************

“You look like shite, Reg. Truly.”

Elton snorted. “It’s the lighting, mate. Washes me out.”

Bernie roared with laughter for a moment, clutching at his sides, but he sobered rather quickly however. “Sure, sure. Nothing to do with the seizure or bloody heart attack, of course.”

Elton nodded. “Of course, not, Bernie. It was a chest infection.”

Bernie snorted. “So what are you plans upon release? Any idea when that is anyway?”

Elton shrugged. “John is trying to get me out presently. I have shows in NYC starting tomorrow. The doctor is fighting it, but John can usually convince anyone of anything.”

“I asked your plans, Reg, not the prick’s.”

“I don’t have a plan presently. I do as told, you know that.”

Bernie ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t quite know how to broach the topic, but he had to at least try. “Don’t you think that perhaps this is a time to stand up and maybe make a plan? It’s your life, mate.”

“And why would I do a silly thing like that, Bern?”

“Because, mate, you… well… you almost died… Don’t you think it’s time to get help?”

Elton folded his arms across his chest. Bernie winced when he saw the pout forming. “I’ve almost died numerous times over the years, mate. Hence the fucking will. Why is this any different?”

Bernie leaned back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling. “I don’t know why I fucking bother. I thought this time would be different, Reg. I thought maybe by coming here when you asked you would see that someone fucking loves you enough to care about your well-being. That someone fucking loves you enough to jump out of bed at 3 in the bloody morning to hold your hand and dry your bleeding tears. Reid would never have even dreamed of doing it, Reg... Fucking, hell… maybe even that someone… Bloody hell… that I fucking love you.”

Elton was quite at a loss for words. “You… You what?

“You bloody heard me, tosser,” Bernie said, getting to his feet. He threw his jacket over his shoulder. “Ring me when you’re ready to make your own decisions, Elton. Until then, I’m bleeding done.”

Elton cursed himself as Bernie walked out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Elton sat on the curb, his simple blue suitcase beside him, smoking his cigarette leisurely. Everything he did now was at a leisurely pace. After two months at the center, being re-taught how brilliant day to day things can actually be helped ground him in a fashion he never expected. 

When he entered the center, still wearing the hideous stage costume he had left in, he was quite mystified that he had made it there in the first place. He threw himself headfirst into healing once he reconciled that it truly was not a dream, he was really there, and John was nowhere in sight to derail him.

Watched by a stern-eyed intake counselor, he had rang Bernie the evening he had arrived.  _ You said to ring you when I was ready to make my own decisions… Surprise!, _ Elton remembered voicing weakly, hoping for a laugh. Bernie had been silent for so long Elton remembering wondering if he had disconnected.  _ I’m proud of you, mate. Don’t give up. You’ll get through this. Keep me in the loop... if you can. _

And so Elton did so. It went from short, semi-supervised phone calls to short semi-supervised visits. Whenever Elton felt ready to give up, Bernie was there. Spoken or silent, his support was balm to Elton’s weary soul.

They organized both far-fetched and uncomplicated plans for their future, sometimes giggling like hapless schoolboys. They grew closer than they had been in years. Bernie had given him pages of lyrics to compose on his downtime, and the creation of songs without the aid of the drug or drink was much more difficult than Elton could have expected, but far more rewarding.

Elton smiled, seeing Bernie’s battered pick-up truck coming down the road. Elton would have to see about replacing it, of course, but it would do well enough for now. As he hopped into the cab, his suitcase at his feet, he felt fierce joy. 

_ This was what I was missing _ , Elton thought, as they kissed gently, exploring each other’s mouths in a way Elton had never dreamed possible.  _ We have always been part of the same whole, haven’t we? _

Bernie broke the kiss, taking Elton’s hand in his. “Are you ready to go home?”

Elton nodded. “Yes, please. I can’t wait to spend every minute with you.”

“Forever.”


End file.
